I am the storm that scatters the sheep
The lightning that tears the field
The wind that screams and howls with the rage of a thousand armies
The rain that floods the home
That drowns the unprepared
That cleanses the battlefield
That nourishes the crops
That brings life
The rain that washes away the pain
I am the storm
—————–
Image: “Enlightenment” by Giorgio Vaselli
Life has been hard on you. It has given you challenges you never expected. Pushed you to do things you never thought you would do. It has kicked you when you were down. Stomped on you. At some point it convinced you that you are unworthy. Less than perfect.
Yet here you are, embracing those imperfections. Finding strength in courage and hope. You are authentic. Unafraid to be vulnerable. Honest with others and with yourself. Compassionate. When life knocks you down you simply get back up and proclaim, “You hit like a bitch.”
You have uncaged your wild nature and embraced the divine feminine.
You are a goddess.
You deserve the worship and love of a warrior. A god.
He will support you. Go out of his way to show his appreciation and his love in every way he can. He will dance with you while doing dishes. Kiss you long and deep without reason. Ride the stupid spirit wagon with you at your kids football game just because you are on it.
He will caringly touch and lovingly kiss all those areas, physical, mental, spiritual, that are hard for you to reach or uncomfortable for you to touch alone.
When you are down he will help you up. When you are up he will raise you higher. When life hands you shit he will make fertilizer from it, plant seeds in it, wash it from you, and put you to bed with soft words and hard passion.
He will reflect those things in you that make you a goddess without fear. You will see yourself in him and you will like what you see. You can be vulnerable around him because he will never take advantage of you. Never use your vulnerability against you. Because he is also vulnerable.
He will bring out the best in you by being his best. Only his best is good enough for you.
He will encourage and help you to grow and in doing so grow with you. Not separately. Not as competition. Together. As One.
He will do these things because he wants to. Not because he needs to. Not because he feels obligated. Because he wants to. He wants to because he loves you.
You are a goddess, you deserve to be loved like one.
Image: “The Fountain of Love” by Jean Honoré Fragonard, c. 1785
Immersed in the nothingness of a dream
I fall impatiently
To a ground that never appears
Though the horizon shortens
Until caught hy a breeze
Born upon the wings of butterflies
And tossed slowly about
In a storm of molasses
That lands me with a silent crash
On broken rock
There
Pinned down by my own weight
Unable to move
I stare
Wishfully
At the empty sky I was so ready to leave
And laugh
As tears roll off my cheeks
Image by Alex Fitch
The Devil whispers quietly
in the chilly morning breeze,
My name is spoken silently
amongst the ancient trees.
In a voice so primitive,
seldom heard, more seen
by eyes that are now opened wide
by the Primitive within.
In that demon whisper
the Angels sing their praise
of long dead gods and demigogs
with long forgotten names.
I take my place among them,
these goddesses and gods,
and find myself thrown back to earth
to dwell within the common mob.
“Why, then?” I ask,
“Why, then, this great gift given?”
“Why not to join you here on earth?”
“Why not make this place Heaven?”
Silence is the answer,
save the demon whisper,
which coerces and carresses
and convinces that it’s different.
But my howling primitive
and ancient sacred soul commands;
“Away with you, both gods and devils!”
For now I understand.
Neither gods,
nor devils,
nor alchemists,
nor goddesses,
we are.
We are the Living Universe,
a greater power by far.
A Fury and a Temptress.
Creator, Lord, and Light.
Pilfering Benefactor.
Virgin Concubine.
Master and Destroyer.
And whispers of the Devil
in the chill
at the end of night.
Day and night
He sits alone
Magnificent
On his stony throne
The halls are dark
No light shines there
Once full and bright
Now laid bare
Silent gaze
To damned
Forgiven
Not a word
To those now living
Whose prayers are given
Whose songs are sung
Only silent stares
And frozen tongue
